My Cold Desire
by sacrenoirr
Summary: That was a simple answer, a clean answer. He didn't need to further explain or argue. He didn't need to be caught off guard again, although he found surprise slightly more thrilling. It rushed to his head like the blood lust used to. Now, he craved spontaneity and a new life. Now, he craved her, not her blood but her. But she was not satisfied.


**A/N: **None of the characters are mine. They rightfully belong to Toby Whithouse. This is just a short fic that I wanted to write. Also, reviews are love.

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It was a second, a second too long perhaps. Now, when he closed his eyes, he could imagine it, crystal clear in his mind. The sun danced off her smooth back, curved with her spine. It reached two thirds of the way and stopped, obstructed by lace, maroon lace. She didn't seem to have cared that he saw, turned her head slightly to see him quickly turning around to respect her privacy and hide his flushed face. No longer did his heart beat once per minute, slow and fading like a dying man. He had a heart of a hummingbird now, beating twice as fast as it should.

All from maroon lace.

If they didn't kill the devil just a few hours ago, he would have called her that. She was playing with him, teasing him. Maroon, not yet red but not purple either. Maroon, not crimson blood but a color, maroon.

"I'm sorry," he finally answered when he felt his voice wouldn't give away his embarrassment, "I should have knocked."

His ears ringed with her soft laughter, true and bliss. "Yeah, because we're normal people now."

"Normal people knock," he finished. She remembered. What else did she remember? Did she remember the words after? Part him desired a yes, part of him shied away. But they weren't normal people; normal people aren't supernatural in the midst of their normal lives.

"I was just going to tell you that dinner was almost ready. You're probably famished, so come down when you're done," he took a step to the left, turning towards the hallway that led to the stairs.

But she called him, stopped him before he could take another step and leave. "You're running away that fast, Show Tunes?" Her voice hinted teasing. This was not good. Yes, it was good. No, it most certainly was not.

He stuttered, failed to articulate his words properly. "I wasn't running." He was. "I was just going to give you some privacy to finish dressing."

"Well, we still have unfinished business."

Yes, we do, he wanted to say. "Alex, you're not a ghost anymore and if I remember correctly, your list for unfinished things was all ticked off." He recalled the ridiculous and impractical list. The same list that made him feel absurdly jealous of a man named Robert Downey Jr. who she wanted to kiss, kiss more than him.

"I didn't write one on the list, but I told you what it was. Do you remember?" He heard the playfulness, her life rushing through her.

Yes, yes, I remember now. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about and whatever it is, it can be addressed another time," He lied.

That was a simple answer, a clean answer. He didn't need to further explain or argue. He didn't need to be caught off guard again, although he found surprise slightly more thrilling. It rushed to his head like the blood lust used to. Now, he craved spontaneity and a new life. Now, he craved her, not her blood but _her. _But she was not satisfied. He should have known. He did know, but he tried to be naïve.

Spontaneity. She placed her hand on his shoulder, held it with a soft but firm hold. His heart quickened again. She leaned in. He could smell her, not blood but perfume, sweet and intoxicating like blood but not blood.

Spontaneity. He felt a brush of her lips near the curve of his ear. He wondered how much of this was her delighting in her ability to physically feel again and how much of this was her enjoyment in tempting him, tugging him along and watching him fall.

"I told you that that night when I was preparing for our date, I had on an empirically sexy bra." He didn't admit it right away but he recalled it, has been recalling it since the second he caught sight of it. "And I told myself that I was wearing this for you because I wanted you to see it."

"Alex, I really don't think it's appropriate that we're having this conversation." That was true. He wanted none of this talking. He wanted to touch, to groan, to entwine their bodies together with the mix of sheets. "Perhaps, later after-"

Spontaneity. Hand grasped firmly on his shoulder, she turned him around. Surprisingly, she had a lot of strength. Not so surprisingly, he wasn't fighting the turn either. Another second, maybe three seconds. He took it in. Her glowing face, her soft skin and maroon lace.

A smile stretched across her lips. She was having her fun. "Incredibly sexy, is it not?"

Spontaneity. His arm wrapped around her lower back and pulled her to him, lips crashing together. He wanted her, the taste of her, wanted to be intoxicated by her. She kissed back, loving the rush, the thrill, the physicality of it all. God, she missed this.

His body desired her, needed her. Not her blood, not this time, not anymore. It was consumed with passion and lust. It desired sweat and her entirety. A second, he kissed the edge of her lips, and moved down her neck, her collar bone, down to the flesh covered by maroon lace. She called it the bra of doom before. And he noted, it was called so appropriately. Not because of the ill fate it brought upon her but because of the fate it brought upon him now.

Maroon was the new blood.


End file.
